


Oh, Loverboy!

by shcherbatskayas



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Dirty Dancing References, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:30:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8824783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shcherbatskayas/pseuds/shcherbatskayas
Summary: The sinking summer sun illuminates Yuri from behind and you can see his shadow through the thin screen. You watch as he takes two small steps and then leaps through the air in a perfect saut de chat before swinging out from behind the partition. His hair is half falling out from the ponytail he tied it in at the beginning of the day and there’s a light band of sweat across his forehead. His shorts cling to his legs in a way that makes the room feel even warmer than it is already and he’s looking right at you, eyes half-lidded and that Chesire Cat smirk you love so much playing on his lips. 
“Oh, loverboy!”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Oh, Loverboy!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10498077) by [thatdamnpapaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdamnpapaya/pseuds/thatdamnpapaya)



> Um idk man, I was watching the "Loverboy!" scene from Dirty Dancing and this happened. The song referenced in this is Love is Strange by Mickey and Sylvia, which I suggest listening to as you read! Because I listened to it on repeat the whole time I wrote this lol. Anyways, let me know what you think and thanks for reading!
> 
> (Also pls talk to me about the Queen of Kazakhstan, Sabira Altin, who's highkey my favorite Yuri on Ice OC)

Yuri’s only been in Kazakhstan for a few days when you realize exactly how hopelessly and completely in love you are with him. He passed off his visit as merely stopping by since he was on the way back from Viktor’s wedding ceremony in Japan anyhow and that it’s no big deal, really, but you knew him well enough to know when he’s lying and you know that it _is_ a big deal, really. Neither one of you had really ever had a true friend before, so him actually coming over and staying was something entirely new for both of you and you thought it was pretty important. 

 

Now you were leaning on the air conditioner of the dance studio that was in the building your mother owned, watching Yuri out of the corner of your eye as you took a sip from your water bottle. Even if he wasn’t here on official ice skating business, you and Yuri both have a lot of training to do, especially since directly after last year’s Grand Prix, you both swore to get on the podium together for this year. Training together was a great idea, but it was brutal. Your original comment about him being a soldier wasn’t wrong. He trained with the vigor and passion of a knight preparing to go to war for his kingdom, and even though you did the same, he exhausted you. You blamed it on the fact that as soon as you came home after Worlds, your grandmother insisted on you resting and taking time off and so you’re not as in shape as you want to be. 

 

You’re taking a break as Yuri finishes up some across-the-floor combination that he swore to you would be his last. Then again, he said that about the last one, and the one before that. The music playing through the speakers is soft and the sun outside is starting to set and everything feels beautiful. The only thing that hurts is your legs and you’re grateful for that. You’re used to having pain everywhere else. 

 

The song changes halfway through Yuri’s dance. The music is coming from your phone, so you know every single one and sometimes hum along. You know this song too, not because you heard it on the radio but because it’s from that dumb movie your sister loved when she was 15, _Dirty Dancing_. You pretend like you hate it, but you have a soft spot for those American 80’s films because they always have a happy ending. You know every line of that movie by heart and you generally assume everyone else has seen it too.

 

As you listen to the song, the scene flashes through your head. Summer somewhere in 1950’s America, two lovers hiding from the world and practicing dancing and having fun. You know the moves they do during the scene and part of you is tempted to start dancing it with Yuri because every time he laughs or corrects your posture or tries to teach you how to take a decent selfie, all that runs through your brain is the same simple phrase. _I love you, I love you, I love you._

 

Yuri isn’t looking at you, but you decide to go for it. Your Patrick Swayze impersonation is fairly good and even if he probably won’t dance with you like in that movie, it might get a laugh out of him and the sound of Yuri Plisetsky’s laughter is one of your favorite sounds in the world because you associate with Yuri Plisetsky being happy. You grab your sunglasses and put them on, because nothing is more cool than sunglasses, and prepare. 

 

When it gets to the part you plan to impersonate (if only because it doesn’t involve you actually singing--your singing voice is god awful and actually has made puppies cry), you dramatically fall down on the floor like in the movie, look over at Yuri, give him a smirk, and deliver the line as smoothly and movie-star-esque as possible. “How do you call your loverboy?” 

 

Yuri pauses, looks down at you, and he laughs. “Bek, what the actual fuck?” He asks between bouts of laughter, the kind that makes your head feel fuzzy and light and reminds you of the morning sun over Almaty. 

 

“Wait, don’t tell me you’ve never seen the movie _Dirty Dancing_.” You say, pushing your sunglasses onto your head and raising your eyebrows at him, your face returning to its normal neutral expression.

 

“Um, no? Isn’t that some lame teenage girl movie? Also, you look like a douche when you do that with your sunglasses, like you’re just about to go ‘It’s JJ style!!!!!!!!’ and then do a backflip or some shit.” Yuri tells you, doing an impersonation of Jean-Jacques that’s uncannily perfect. You take the sunglasses off of your head and sit on the air conditioner, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

“I’ll have you know that _Dirty Dancing_ is a masterpiece.” You say, only half joking because damn, you really do have a soft spot for happy endings. “We’re going to have to fix that.”

 

“Well, if you say it’s good, I doubt it won’t be _too_ awful." Yuri concedes with a shrug and then yawns. “I think that’s it for today.”

 

The song ends and you nod, tossing him his bag and a bottle of water. “I agree.”

 

***

 

That night, the two of you end up on your sister’s couch, watching the aforementioned film. Yuri’s head is half in your lap as he watches and you absently braid his hair as you watch. No matter how many times you’ve seen your sister braid her hair before her competitions and no matter how many times she tried to teach you how to do it, your braids end up uneven and sloppy. Sabira always was endlessly irritated by it in the playful way she was irritated by everything else you did as a child, but here and now, Yuri doesn’t mind. In fact, you think he enjoys it if the miniscule smile on his face tells you anything.

 

To no one’s surprise, Yuri spends most of the movie nit-picking the dancing. His eyes are Lilia-trained and miss _nothing_ . Each misstep makes him bristle and he yells at the actors like he thinks they can hear him. Still, you think he starts to get invested in the movie, or he at least can tell that you’re invested in it because during the tense moments, he’s quiet and occasionally looks at you. His eyes don’t look like a soldier’s in that moment, not like a fairy or a punk or anything else. He looks like a human, and you love him for it. 

 

The scene you were about to recreate for a dumb reason you can’t quite explain comes on and Yuri’s watching it just as intensely as you are. He snickers at first, but then as he sees the choreography, he turns red. You look away, your own face a shade of pink that gives away your embarrassment. 

 

“Well,” Yuri begins, sighing at the screen. “I think you’re a hell of a better dancer than that fuck. And his face kinda freaks me out. Seriously, why is it so red all of the time?”

 

You chuckle at his observation, even if it isn’t particularly clever because it’s just so perfectly him. “Probably the studio lighting.” You guess, which makes Yuri roll his eyes. 

 

“I can’t believe you actually answered that question.” He says, stretching out his legs and then settling down to where he was before.

 

“The journalists say it’s part of my charm.” You deadpan, rolling your eyes as you think of all of the dumb articles they write about you. 

 

“At least those assholes got one thing right.” He mutters, turning his attention back to the movie. You try to pretend that you aren’t flattered, but you know he sees right through it. For some reason, you don’t really mind.

 

***

 

The song comes on again a few days later while you two are in the studio. You’re at the barre and Yuri is stretching and neither one of you are speaking, but there’s a comfortable silence. All of the windows are open, letting in the cool summer air that occasionally graces you with its presence. The air conditioning is on full-blast because you know how brutal the heat in Kazakhstan must be for someone who’s spent most of their life on the edges of Siberia, even if Yuri will never admit it to you. You look over at Yuri when you hear the familiar guitar rhythms and he looks back at you. Neither one of you can say who moves first, but somehow the two of you end up gliding across the floor together.

 

You try to pretend like you’re imitating the actors, but Yuri’s rolling his eyes at you and smiling and flicking a piece of hair out of his eyes and you can’t help but be yourself. You hum softly as you dance, and it’s not the choreographed routines that you normally do but a sort of free-flowing movement, like you’re simply part of music itself and you don’t even need to think about it. The moves are as natural as breathing.

 

When it gets to the part you mimicked a few days ago, you do the same action you did then because it actually fits. You fall on the floor and then look up at Yuri, who’s carelessly dancing away from you. “How do you call your loverboy?”

 

He turns and gives you a wicked smirk, one that makes you remember why they call him the Russian Punk. Yuri doesn’t even try to match his voice to the singer’s, which makes it all the more endearing. He makes a come-hither motion with one hand and rests his other against the folding partition that’s just a few inches away from the window. “Come here, loverboy!”

 

You’re tempted to move right then, but you know the words and you know it wouldn’t fit right, so you stay where you are and give him a genuine smile, one that you rarely give because it gives so much away, as you move onto the next line. “And if he doesn’t answer?”

 

In the brief pause, Yuri sneaks behind the partition. The sinking summer sun illuminates him from behind and you can see his shadow through the thin screen. You watch as he takes two small steps and then leaps through the air in a perfect saut de chat before swinging out from behind the partition. His hair is half falling out from the ponytail he tied it in at the beginning of the day and there’s a light band of sweat across his forehead. His shorts cling to his legs in a way that makes the room feel even warmer than it is already and he’s looking right at you, eyes half-lidded and that Chesire Cat smirk you love so much playing on his lips. “Oh, loverboy!” 

 

“And if he still doesn’t answer?” You say, your voice coming out a little weaker than you intended. 

 

“I simply say, baby--” He makes his way towards you and you do the same, unsure where you ought to be going with this but knowing that you’re going with it. His arms end up around your neck and yours around his waist and you fit together perfectly. 

 

“Oh, baby,” he sings softly, and it isn’t fair because his voice is angelic and beautiful, and yet there’s a certain strength to it that most people would skip over but you can’t miss.

 

“My sweet baby.” You’re both barely moving, nothing very technical or complicated or beautiful about your dancing except for maybe the way that you’re looking at him because god, you love him more every day and you just can’t help it.

 

“You’re the one.” You both sing that last line and before you can linger on it too long, you spin Yuri and then dip him down. He takes the lead after that and even though he’s at least four inches shorter than you, he manages to do the same and twice as elegantly as you did. By the time the song ends, your noses are less than an inch apart and you can see a little bit of dirt on the bridge of his nose and there’s a beat of silence between this song and the next where you just look at each other.

 

“Your posture is terrible.” He whispers, looking up at you with a tenderness most of the world thinks him incapable of.

 

“I know.” You say back, part of you wanting to hide because he’s giving you a look like he can see every single inch of you but most of you wanting to just stay there forever. “We’ll have to work on that.”

 

“We will.” Yuri agrees, and the moment is soon lost in the mechanics of making you a better dancer so that you can be a better skater so that you both can be on that podium together. But the sentiment isn’t lost and you can tell that it isn’t, not when he lets his hand linger a little longer than necessary on your back when he’s fixing your posture and not when he leans into your hand when you move away stray strands of golden blond and not when you look at each other before you both fall asleep on the couch and you see your own love mirrored right back at you. You can’t remember ever being so happy in your life.


End file.
